That Impossible Girl
by ilovetvalot
Summary: This story immediately follows the events in the episode, "The Name of the Doctor". When that impossible girl makes a time altering decision, can either the Doctor or Clara find any peace in her decision?


**This story immediately follows the events of "The Name of the Doctor". I do hope you enjoy it.**

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**That Impossible Girl**

"You are a truly impossible girl, Clara!"

Sighing heavily as his accusation hangs in the air, I clench my jaw so that I don't immediately begin to hurl aspirations against _his_ character. He certainly deserves it. After all, he has called me the impossible girl _again _when he knows how much I hate it.

The man is daft. Or demented, depending on what day of the week it is. Ha! The daft, demented Doctor, that's what _he_ is, I think to myself as I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him while I wait for him to say _something_ interesting. As it is, he's rambling on and on at length about how I've broken the rules of time and space and formed some kind of blasted paradox for him to deal with.

Did I mention that I committed these atrocities (at least, it seems like an atrocity with the way he's dithering on) while I was rescuing him from almost assured death? The impossible girl couldn't allow the daft demented Doctor to cock up his toes now could I?

I want to sock him in that prominent chin of his when he uses that tone with me. You know the one I mean - part flustered, part frustrated and completely put out with me. Honestly, what right does he have to call _me_ names? I'm neither impossible (I'm really very reasonable - or so I've been told before) nor am I what could be called a girl anymore. On the contrary, I'm a rather intelligent young woman. True, by his standards, I'm really probably no more than an infant, but in this world in this time, I AM a woman, blast him!

The Doctor might be over nine hundred years old, but he's positively clueless when it comes to dealing with a female of any species. You'd think centuries of living would have taught him a few things about the fairer sex, wouldn't you? But, alas, no. He remains perpetually dense whether because of sheer obstinate nature or something else entirely, I don't know.

I swear, he speaks to the TARDIS with more care and consideration than he does to me.

He's absolutely infuriating.

Oh, I suppose he has his finer points. He _has_ saved the world – okay, he's saved many worlds – at least a few thousand times. And he does have a somewhat endearing manner – at least, he does when he's not making me want to pull out his hair strand by silky strand. Plus, he's more than a little bit tasty. Have I mentioned how his hair shines and tends to flop over one eye?

I am digressing. I can't help it. The Doctor does tend to distract me. He has that way about him.

Where was I?

Oh, yes, I was busy stewing over him calling me an impossible girl again, wasn't I? I've no idea what I've done to earn it today. You'd think he'd be grateful that I'd saved his miserable hide from a certain death, wouldn't you? A normal person would. Any ordinary mortal would.

Of course, the Doctor is neither normal nor ordinary. Those innocuous words could never describe someone like him.

If I had to choose a word that I identify with the Doctor, it would be brilliant. Please don't misunderstand. I don't mean this to be entirely a compliment. Believe me, the quality of brilliance is not always the wonderful blessing you'd think it was on first consideration.

"Did you hear me, Clara?" the Doctor asks impatiently, pulling me from my thoughts.

Blinking quickly, I force my attention back to him. Blast! He's paused for some kind of verbal response from me. My mind has drifted away from his lecture, but I'll never allow him to know it.

"Of course I've heard you. I'm not deaf, am I?" I return tartly. "I've done a terrible, horrible, awful thing in your eyes. You've made yourself clear. Tell me, Doctor, would you rather be dead? Surely, you recognize that you would have been killed if I hadn't acted as I did."

I can tell by the look on his face and the splash of color mottling his cheeks that he wouldn't. The Doctor enjoys living. He doesn't really need to say it aloud for me to know it.

And he won't, I know.

A heavy silence is his only response. Finally, satisfied, I say softly, "I didn't think so."

"How I do or do not feel about being alive isn't relevant," he mutters as he begins to pace the TARDIS. "You have no idea what the consequences for this could be, you impossible girl!"

"I saved your life, Doctor! If you're waiting for an apology, I'd settle in for a nice, long wait," I recommend, lifting my chin defiantly as I face him. He's not the only one who can be stubborn. When I put my back into it, I can rival even him in terms of sheer determination. "I'd do it all again in a second if it meant the difference between your life and death."

"But, _why_, Clara? Why did you risk so much?"

Oh, I was _not_ going to answer that particular question. I wasn't ready to confide feelings that I couldn't understand on my own.

But I had to tell him something. That look he had in his eyes – much like the one the cat has when he's determining how in the world he's going to catch his canary – assured me that he wasn't going to let it go.

"Well, Doctor," I begin, affecting a completely unconcerned tone to my voice. "To borrow one of your favorite explanations: It's complicated and that's that," I say briskly, nodding sharply for emphasis.

"And that's that?" the Doctor repeated incredulously.

"Yes. That most assuredly _is_ that. You have your secrets, Doctor, and I have mine."

Would he have preferred that I add a hearty 'Sod off' to my statement, I wonder while I watch his face carefully for a reaction.

"Clara…"

Holding up a hand, I take a step toward him and narrow my eyes. "I'll make you an offer, Doctor. You tell me why you came after me in that time rift and I'll tell _you_ why I jumped into it in the first place."

I'm not worried that I'll have to divulge my feelings to him in the least. He's never going to tell me the answer to my question. I know this. I can tell by the way he presses his lips together and stiffens.

It's just another secret that he's determined to keep from me.

But, there again, two could play that game.

Everyone has secrets.

I was keeping mine.

After all, I _am_ his impossible girl.

_**Finis**_


End file.
